Brother
by Jacksaw
Summary: Tim hates the memorial. The people there should be honored. Maybe he didn't know Tula or Ted Kord personally, but he knew Jason. (Batfam bonding.)


**I think I said this would be up soon after _Zannia_. That was maybe a month ago. Oops. **

**I have no idea when Jason was born. It wad probably in the seventies, but that would make no sense in YJ world. **

**BATFAM!**

**Disclaimer: Apply here. **

* * *

><p>The memorial gave him the creeps.<p>

There were too many ghosts, too many painful memories, too many reminders how many people wanted to kill him. It never seemed to bother the others though. Blue Beetle went down at a constant rate, staring at the statues of his predecessor(s). Impulse would often go with him, crunching loudly on Chicken Whizees. Cassie hung around a lot too, fascinated by all the history in the room.

He didn't want to know the 'history'. He had enough blood and gore in his life.

Plus it was unfair to all the people 'honored' here. They had all made the ultimate sacrifice for the greater good. They were heroes among heroes. They should have had a state funeral, with public mourning and all that. They died in service for the people of Earth. Shouldn't they at least know what their heroes were willing to do for them? Instead, they were stuck in a miserable basement, with nothing to show except a hologram. This was wrong.

Speaking of wrong... He paused between Blue Beetle II and Tula. Just between them, in shadowed corner, was a particular statue. Out of all of them, this was probably the statue be hated most. It was basically a monument to how dangerous his job truly was.

But he went to pay his respects anyway. Jason Todd deserved _that_ much.

Magnified a few times, until he was over ten feet tall, Jason stood staring out across the room, a heroic frown etched on his face. His uniform was freshly pressed and neat, so different from the one it had been in life. His hair was different too. Flatter, less spiky and generally less all over the place.

Tim didn't know whether to be happy or mad. Happy they portrayed him so heroically, or mad they got him so wrong. So… one-dimensional-ly.

Maybe he was biased. The rest of the world saw Jason Peter Todd-Wayne as rude, smoked, swore a lot and the poster-child of bad behavior, even those who knew he superhero identity. He _was_ rude. He did swear a lot, and all those things people accused him of. But sometimes he listened. And he tried to understand. Which was more than he could say for all the others. Including his parents.

Even before he was orphaned, Tim had never fit in. It was a well-known fact that Timothy Jackson Drake was an oddball. He out-thought even the teachers at his private school, figured out secrets that should have stayed hidden.

His parents were way too busy for him, preferring to hand him a credit card and leaving him to their butler. His mother spent more time on her nails than fussing over him, and spent hours on end on the phone, idly gossiping to other rich wives. His father buried himself in work, pushing his way upwards like a rocket through the atmosphere. He barely had time for his wife, let alone the tiny eight year old. Tim spent his afternoons wandering the manor, exploring all the diffrent nooks and crannies of the place. The maids and their single butler would stay on the ground floor, preparing dinner and cleaning up all the bedrooms (fifteen in all). They didn't dare approach him. After a while, even the manor secrets lost its appeal to Tim. He began looking for secrets outside, some he was sure would get him killed if he exposed them. And he discovered Batman and Robin's true identity. Bruce Wayne. Jason Todd. But even that failed to entertain him, though it was a secret many magazines would sell their souls to know. His life fell into a slow, lonely routine. (Wake up, breakfast, say goodbye, being ignored, school, blah blah blah.)

And then his parents died.

It shouldn't gave made a difference to him. They hardly bothered to give him the time of the day; they were basically strangers to him. Why should he be bothered because two strangers died?

But it did anyway.

So in the empty afternoons and nights, when the house was quiet(er than usual), he crept out to look for Jason Todd.

He'd heard that Jason was an ophran, one of the many in Gotham. He had searched his name through the system, done a little tinkering (self-taught hacking), and found his files.

JASON PETER TODD

August 16th 2002- Present.

Male.

Mother: Catherine Stewart (deceased)

Father: Willis Todd (deceased)

Adoptive Father: Bruce Wayne.

Well, he already knew that. He scrolled down until two words smacked him in the virtual face.

Underage drinking

_Wait. What? This was Robin we were talking about!_

He scanned upwards, until he saw the police records. He began to read again.

CRIMINAL RECORD

Thievery (p3)

Breaking and entering (p4)

Underage drinking ( p9, 11)

Failing to report a drug abuser (Mother) (p2)

Injuring civilians in 'self defense' (p12, 13, 17)

The list went on, with references to other pages and other known felons. Apparently Robin wasn't all goody-good after all. He scrolled back to the words that had first caught his attention.

_Drinking, huh? _

* * *

><p>"You're not nearly old enough for that."<p>

The redhead scowled and set down his glass. "Do I know you?"

"Probably not."

"Then go away."

Tim pulled up a stool beside him and plopped himself down. The chair made a squeaky sound and sank a few inches."Tim Drake."

"Which part of go away did you not understand?"

"Don't worry, I will. Robin."

He tensed a bit, imperceptible to anyone but Tim. "I don't know what you're talking about." He brought the cup to his lips.

"Are you sure? Batman and Robin? You and Bruce? Ring a bell."

Jason laughed. "Bruce as Robin. That would be hilarious."

"Oh, so he is Batman, huh?"

The bartender's head swivelled towards them like a hawk.

Jason groaned. "Oh, _fuck._"

The bartender approached their table. "Kid, you gonna drink anything?"

"I don't think so, thanks."

"Well, get out."

Jason sighed. "You're not from around here, are you? He'll have a vodka."

The bartender nodded stiffly. He leaned forward conspiracally. "What were you chumps talking about old Bats anyway?"

"Bats?" Jason repeated stoically. "Nothing much."

"Really? 'Cause it kinda sounded like you guys dug up some dirt on this guy."

"Because it couldn't just be a typical conversation bitching about the old son of a gun ruining everything."

"You're a flaming moron, you know."

"Takes one to know one."

"Yeah. And you can get your own drinks too."

He reached over and slapped a hand on his shoulder. "Knew I could depend on ya."

Tim watched this display with fascination. Being from a rich family on the other side of Gotham, he was unfamiliar to this sort of thing. But it was obvious from Jason's easy attitude that this wasn't the case with him. He waited as the man laughed, and walked back to his counter.

Jason leaned forward. "Next time you plan on endangering both me and Bruce, give me a heads-up."

"Yeah, sure. So it is true?"

"Yeah. How'd you figure it out anyway?"

"It was easy. I already knew Bruce Wayne was Batman. Doesn't take a genius to put two and two together."

"You seem quite close, though."

"Dick slipped up. Did a quadruple somersault as Robin."

"Knew he was an idiot."

"Yeah. Like you said. Takes one to know one."

"Haha, Drake."

"So, same time tomorrow night?"

"No."

He was there anyway.


End file.
